


Alliances

by Whedonista93



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Sansa Stark, F/M, Joffrey Baratheon is His Own Warning, No Twincest, Treason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:35:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24636175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whedonista93/pseuds/Whedonista93
Summary: Sansa finds an unexpected protector in King's Landing.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Sansa Stark
Comments: 29
Kudos: 237





	Alliances

_Sansa hastens through the gardens, her mother’s admonishment of, “Ladies do not run, Sansa,” echoing in the recesses of her mind. She pushes her mother’s voice aside in favor of getting as far away from Joffrey as she can._

_“Lady Sansa,” the prince’s voice wheedles from behind her._

_Sansa hurries along, risking a glance over her shoulder moments before running headlong into the solid plane of someone’s chest._

_Strong hands steady her. “Easy now,” an amused voice chides._

_Sansa glances up and finds herself staring at the face of the Kingslayer himself. “Apologies, my Lord. I-”_

_“Sansa!” Joffrey’s voice sounds much closer and far more irritated. “I know I saw you!”_

_Sansa can’t contain her wince._

_Jaime chuckles. “Hiding from my vile nephew, then?”_

_Sansa looks up fearfully._

_Jaime merely grins and tucks her hand into the crook of his arm. “Walk with me, Lady Sansa. You need not have any fear of me.” He pulls her around the next curve of the path and turns her to face him. “If you'll permit me,” he reaches up to straighten and smooth her hair. “There, now you look less like you've been running for your life.”_

_Sansa almost smiles. “Thank you, Ser Jaime.”_

_Jaime tucks her hand back into his arm. “Glad to be of service, Lady Sansa.”_

_Sansa does smile then._

_Jaime smiles back. “Easy does it. We’re just out for a casual stroll through the gardens. The little shit will catch up soon enough, play along.”_

_Sansa merely nods._

_“What does he want with you, anyway, my dear?”_

_Sansa shrugs. “I do not know, but-”_

_“Lady Sansa! There you are!” Joffrey saunters up to them, cocky grin in place._

_Sansa pastes an insincere smile on. “Prince Joffrey, my apologies, I was unaware you were looking for me.”_

_“Surely you heard me calling.”_

_Sansa shakes her head demurely. “I am sorry, but I did not.”_

_“I fear we were lost in our own conversation, nephew,” Jaime drawls casually._

_“For shame, Uncle,” Joffrey chides. “Keeping the attention of the loveliest lady in the keep to yourself when you can’t even take a wife.”_

_“Women are more than just a womb, nephew. If I thought any could stand your presence longer than a moment I would recommend you try actually talking to them.”_

_Joffrey scoffs._

_Jaime raises an eyebrow. “You would do well not to display that attitude in front of your mother.”_

_“Prince Joffrey,” the Hound’s rough voice sounds._

_The prince turns and sneers at the soldier. “What?”_

_“Your father wants you,” the Hound tells him, unphased by the prince’s ire._

_Joffrey rolls his eyes, but goes, the Hound shadowing him._

_Jaime frowns after them. “Lady Sansa?”_

_She turns her face up to him._

_His eyes are still on the path where Joffrey disappeared. “Promise me you will not be alone with him.”_

_“Ser Jaime?”_

_“There is something depraved in his eyes when he looks to you, my Lady. If you would allow me, I will protect you.”_

_She squeezes his arm where her hand rests and tries, but fails, to keep the hope from her voice. “Do you promise?”_

_He raises his free hand to rest over hers. “On one condition.”_

_“Just call me Jaime.”_

_She beams. “As long as you call me Sansa.”_

_He nods. “Then I promise.”_

Sansa cowers down, raising her hands over head to ward off Ser Trant’s next blow, but the blow never comes. She hears a clatter and peeks through her arms and sees his sword on the ground, his hand still attached to the hilt. She looks up and sees Jaime, blood on his sword, between her and Trant. Sansa collapses the rest of the way to the ground, relief coursing through her.

Jaime holds his sword to Trant’s neck. “If you _ever_ raise a hand to the Lady Sansa again, you will lose more than that hand. Is my meaning clear?”

“Was only following orders,” Trant gasps.

“What about my face makes you think I care? Clegane, take Lady Sansa out of here, directly to my personal chambers, and call for a maester to see to her immediately.”

Sansa feels something drape over her back and glances over her shoulder to see the white of the Hound’s cloak covering her ruined dress. Without a word he picks her up, surprisingly gently, and carries her from the throne room. She cries out as her weight rests against the arm banded around her shoulders.

“Sorry, little bird,” he rumbles.

Sansa squeezes her eyes shut. “Just get me away from them.”

She gets a grunt in response. Other than the whimpers she tries to contain, and the Hound barking at a passing servant to send a maester, they traverse the halls in silence. She passes out before they reach Jaime’s rooms. When she comes to, a gentle hand is stroking her hair back from her face. To her surprise, it’s Queen Cersei’s face she sees.

Sansa jerks up in surprise, gasping as pain lances across her back. “Your Grace!”

Cersei smiles. “Easy, little dove. You’ll reopen the wounds on your back. Tell me, why was my son having you beaten in front of the court?”

“I have a traitor’s blood, your Grace,” Sansa parrots dutifully.

Cersei huffs. “I suppose whatever Joffrey was having you beat for is the same reason your father is in the maester’s chambers sweating out poison.”

Sansa winces.

“Cersei, you’re scaring the girl,” Jaime chides, door slamming behind him as he enters.

Cersei rolls her eyes. “Joffrey?”

“Contained to his room under guard until we sort this mess.” Jaime comes into Sansa’s line of vision and he squats in front of her. “Are you alright, my dear?”

Sansa tries to sit up and flinches when it pulls at the bandages on her back, then freezes when she realizes her gown and shift were cut away.

Jaime stands and retrieves a robe from over a nearby chair. “Cersei?”

“Queen, maid, what’s the difference?” Cersei scoffs, but takes the robe and gently helps Sansa stand and tie the robe before sitting her down again. “She’s covered.”

Jaime turns back toward the women, returns to kneeling in front of Sansa. “Talk to me, my dear.”

Sansa glances nervously at Cersei.

Cersei rolls her eyes. “I am not going to punish you, I just want to know the truth, little dove.”

“Even if it makes a bastard of your son?” Sansa snaps before she can help herself, then catches herself and drops her gaze to her lap.

Jaime reaches out and takes her hands gently in his own. “Sansa?”

She knows there are tears in her eyes when she looks up at Jaime.

“My dear, please…”

Sansa eyes Cersei fearfully.

Jaime squeezes her hands. “Sansa, do you trust me?”

Something in her snaps, and she shoves to her feet, ignoring the pain and jerking her hands from his, throwing him off balance. “You promised, Jaime! You promised and then you left and he-” she chokes on a sob and hits ineffectively at Jaime when he stands and pulls her into his chest.

“Jaime, is it? What did you promise her?” Cersei asks quietly.

“To protect her from Joffrey, “ Jaime answers honestly. “There is a madness in his eyes when he looks at her, Cersei.”

Eventually, Sansa sags against him, sobbing into his chest and letting him hold her up.

He brings one hand up to the back of her head, soothing and shushing her. “I know, my dear. I am sorry. I know.”

As she calms, he guides her to a small table near the window and helps her into a chair before sitting next to her. She barely notices Cersei sitting across from them.

Jaime takes her hands again. “Sansa, why is Joffrey accusing you of treason and having you beaten in court? Why did he have your father attacked and poisoned in the square?”

Sansa stares at their joined hands. “He’s not King Robert’s son.”

Cersei rises from her chair. “How dare y-”

“Cersei, let her speak,” Jaime cuts his sister off sharply.

Sansa takes a deep breath and finally looks directly at the queen. “Forgive me, I am not accusing you, my Queen. You had trouble, your Grace, falling with child before you had Joffrey.”

Cersei falls back into her chair. “You can’t know that.”

“The maesters in King’s Landing couldn’t help you. The maester that finally succeeded was from the North.”

Cersei pales. “How?”

“That maester was paid by a Northern Lord, your Grace. The herbs that the maester… injected into her majesty were not just herbs. They also contained the preserved seed of the Lord who paid the maester. A long game, if you will, with a mind to discredit the throne.”

“Name him,” Cersei demands, voice shaking.

“Roose Bolton, your Grace.”

“Do you have proof?” Jaime asks gently.

“We have the maester,” Sansa tells them.

_“You’re leaving?” Sansa wrings her hands anxiously._

_Jaime nods. “For a short time. King Robert has matters to see to at Storm’s End and Cersei has expressed a desire to visit our father at Casterly Rock.”_

_Sansa glances up at the Red Keep nervously. “Those are long journeys, my Lord.”_

_“Jaime, my dear.” He cups her cheek gently. “I would take you with me if I could, but we won’t be gone long. Hopefully not much longer than a moon’s turn. Two at the most.”_

_Sansa nods, unable to meet his eyes. “I will miss you,” she admits, just above a whisper._

_Jaime gently lifts her chin. “And I you, my dear. You are one of the few highlights of this infernal city.”_

_Sansa smiles shakily and blushes._

_“Stick close to your father when you can, and your rooms when you cannot,” he urges her solemnly. “Always walk with someone else. Do not allow Joffrey to catch you alone. Promise me, Sansa.”_

_Sansa nods._

Cersei doesn’t bother turning around when Jaime comes up next to her on the balcony of her rooms. “You care for her.”

“That’s not a question,” Jaime muses, resting his elbows on the railing next to her.

“No, it’s not.”

He shakes his head. “I did not mean to.”

“She is hard not to care for. Beautiful, strong, intelligent. She would make a fine Lannister.”

“I took vows.”

“Vows you can renounce.”

_Jaime can’t help but smile as he watches Sansa walk along the garden paths below, her father at her side. She throws her head back and laughs and a pang runs through his chest. After a moment, he recognizes it as jealousy - envious he is too far away to hear the sound._

_“Should I worry about losing my Captain to a Northern beauty?” Robert asks, coming up beside him._

_Jaime startles - he hadn’t even heard the king approach. “Your Grace?”_

_Robert rolls his eyes. “I am not blind, Lannister.”_

_Jaime eyes the goblet of water in the king’s hand. “I like you better when you drink, good brother, you aren’t as observant.”_

_Robert lets out a booming laugh and shrugs. “Your sister insists it is not fair if I can drink when she can’t.”_

_“Can’t dr- oh seven hells, is she with child?”_

_Robert raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t know? That’s a first. With both of our children thus far I’m certain Cersei told you before anyone.”_

_Jaime shrugs._

_“Don’t think I didn’t notice you didn’t answer the question.”_

_“Too observant,” Jaime repeats._

“What are you getting at, Cersei?”

The queen sighs. “This is a delicate situation.”

“Yes.”

“It will take time to sort and must be handled carefully.”

“I agree.”

“I spoke with the maesters. Lord Stark is holding on. He is fighting, but his fate is unclear. Sansa must be protected.”

“Myself or the Hound will be at her side at all times.”

Cersei shakes her head. “This is about politics as much as her physical well being. Marriage, brother. She must marry someone high enough ranking that Joffrey would not dare even approach her until this is sorted. And that leaves precious few options, Jaime. She is a Stark. Handing the Martells or the Tyrells such a tie to the North is unthinkable. That leaves the Baratheons or the Lannisters that can protect her. Perhaps the Greyjoys, by virtue of simply putting her out of his reach. However, putting aside the obvious fact it is in our best interest to assure the loyalty of the North, I have seen you look at her Jaime, and I cannot believe you would doom her to a marriage without affection when you care for her so.”

“The Kingsguard-”

“My husband will survive just fine without you, Jaime. Sansa, on the other hand, may not. Joffrey…” Cersei shakes her head. “It would make a sort of sense, wouldn’t it? If he is of Bolton’s seed. Lannisters are… we are cunning, manipulative, even. Harsh, when necessary, but we are not cruel. The Boltons are cruel.”

“I will speak with the king and Lord Stark,” Jaime turns away from his sister, winding through the halls to the maester’s chambers, unsurprised to find Robert at his old friend’s side.

Stark glares at him weakly. “You’ve come about Sansa.”

Jaime rolls his eyes. “Cersei's already been here.”

Robert laughs outright. “She took the liberty of tendering your resignation from the Kingsguard.”

Jaime scoffs. “Presumptuous wench.”

“That’s the queen you’re talking about,” Robert chastises good-naturedly.

“She was my sister long before she was queen, and I shall call her what I will. Especially when she deigns to plan out my life for me.”

“Seems to have a head for it, good-brother.”

“Do I get a say in all this?” Stark asks weakly.

“Of course you do,” Jaime hastens to assure.

“But the damn Lannister’s have the right of it, Ned, and you know it,” the king chides.

Stark meets Jaime’s eyes steadily, despite the fevered glaze. “You care for her?”

_"Ser Jaime!"_

_Jaime turns and finds Lord Stark behind him. "Lord Hand."_

_"May I have a word?"_

_"Of course."_

_"In my offices?"_

_Jaime raises an eyebrow. "Is there cause for concern, my Lord?"_

_Stark shakes his head. "It's more of a personal matter, to be honest."_

_Jaime raises an eyebrow, but gestures ahead of himself. "After you, then."_

_Stark seats himself behind his desk when they reach his offices, and pours them both a glass of wine._

_Jaime takes the glass offered to him and waits, content to let the silence reign until Stark is ready to speak his piece._

_Stark stares at him for a long moment. "What are your intentions toward my daughter, Ser Jaime?"_

_Jaime nearly chokes on his wine. "My Lord?"_

_Stark sighs. "My daughter is in your company more often than not these days, Ser, and I cannot help but wonder why a man vowed against marriage would seek the attention of a young Lady of marriageable age."_

_Jaime sets his glass aside. "It is not like that, my Lord."_

_"Then what is it like?"_

_Jaime is quiet for a long moment, contemplating his answer. "Has Sansa spoken to you about the prince?"_

_Stark's brows go up. "'Sansa' is it?"_

_Jaime curses himself for the slip, but ignores the question and repeats his own. "Has she spoken to you?"_

_"No," Stark admits. " And considering her dreams of marrying the boy before we came to King's Landing… I will admit I have been concerned as to why."_

_"My nephew is a vile creature, to be perfectly honest, my Lord. I caught him harassing Lady Sansa in the gardens one day. There is madness in his eyes when he looks at her, my Lord, and I would guard her from him."_

_"While I appreciate the sentiment, Ser Jaime, why you? You are Captain of the Kingsguard. You could assign any number of men to watch over her. Why do so yourself?"_

_"The rest of the Kingsguard wouldn't dare stand against Joffrey, my Lord."_

_Stark nods slowly, and sighs. "I will admit, Ser Jaime, you are good for her. She is not the simpering young girl I brought with me to King's Landing. Who would have thought it would be the company of a Southron Lord that would bring out the Northern steel in her spine? She has blossomed into a confident young woman around you, Ser. She has stopped trying to hide her intelligence in favor of a pretty face. I think she realizes now she can have both. I would hate to see her lose that confidence if you break her heart. Do not give her hope where there is none."_

Jaime sighs and nods. “You know I do.”

“Then take care of her.”

He makes the walk back to his rooms slowly, taking a deep breath before pushing the door open. Sansa is sitting on the balcony, still wearing nothing but his robe. He has to take a moment to collect himself before approaching her.

She looks up at his approach. “Jaime.”

He smiles. “Sansa.”

“Are you well?”

She shrugs. “Everything hurts.”

He sinks into the chair next to her. “I fear it will take me a lifetime to atone for leaving you unguarded.”

“You would pledge a lifetime?” She asks with a weak smile.

“A Lannister always pays his debts,” he answers seriously. “If you would have me, Sansa, I would spend every of my remaining days protecting you from my nephew and any other danger.” He leaves his chair to kneel before her.

“Jaime, what are you doing?”

Jaime huffs out something like a laugh. “Fulfilling my father’s wishes, apparently.” He looks up at her. “I have renounced my vows to the Kingsguard, and the king has accepted. I mean to take up the mantle of Lord of Casterly Rock.”

“Why?”

“You, Sansa.”

Sansa’s eyes are wide. “Me?”

“You,” he nods. “If you become my wife, Joffrey will not dare touch you. I can take you away from here. You would be safe at the Rock.”

“Safe,” Sansa echoes hollowly. “I could be safe if I went back to Winterfell.”

By the time Cersei finds Jaime, seated on a bench in the gardens, staring at nothing at all, she is more than a little irritated. “Well?”

Jaime looks up at his sister with hollow eyes. “She rejected me.”

Cersei crosses her arms over her chest. “Why?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. She said she… she’s going to go back to Winterfell.”

“Tell me _exactly_ what was said.”

Jaime repeats the conversation somewhat woodenly.

Cersei groans. “Gods, _men_!”

Jaime looks up at her forlornly.

Cersei rolls her eyes and grabs him by the arm, hauling him to his feet and pushing him back toward the Keep. She ignores his protests and manhandles him all the way back to his rooms, where they find Sansa sitting in front of the fireplace, red-eyed and sad.

She tries to stand. “Your Gra-”

“Sit, Little Dove,” Cersei commands, shoving Jaime forward. “And _you_ . You tell her why you _really_ want to marry her.”

Jaime shakes his head. “Cersei-”

“No,” she cuts him off. “Gods save me from pig-headed men. If all you’re concerned about is her protection, she’s right. She should just go back to Winterfell. Give her a reason not to, you idiot.”

Jaime glares at his sister. “Cersei, could you-”

“No,” the queen shakes her head. “I am not leaving until I hear you do it right.”

Jaime hangs his head.

Cersei grins smugly and winks at Sansa.

Sansa blushes.

Jaime blows out a breath, then goes to kneel in front of Sansa.

He seems to be making a habit of kneeling before the young woman, Cersei notes with an idle smirk.

“Sansa, of course I want you protected.” Jaime tells her. “But if I just wanted you protected, you’re right. I could send you away, back North. And if that didn’t work, the Martells or the Tyrells have young men of marriageable age with the means to guard you. Or you could go to the Greyjoys. The mere distance to the Iron Islands would keep you out of Joffrey’s reach.”

“Then why not just ship me off to one of them?” Sansa snaps.

Jaime reaches out and takes her hands. “Because I am a selfish man, Sansa, and the thought of any other man seeing you smile at the birds chirping in the garden, or hearing you sing when you think no one is around, or holding you when you’re frightened, or listening you to you snap when you finally get angry, or… gods, watching you lick the sugar off your lips when you eat those damned lemon cakes you love so much. The idea of _any_ other man getting any of that… it makes me absolutely crazy, Sansa, because I want to keep all of that, all of _you_ , to myself. I want to see Casterly Rock full of fire-haired girls with green eyes and golden-haired boys with eyes as blue as winter. So, _please_ Sansa, I am begging you, put me out of my misery and marry me, so I can stop pretending as if I don’t love you.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Sansa breathes out, blushing prettily. She opens her mouth again, but apparently can’t manage to get a sound out, and finally just nods.

Jaime smiles, one of the most sincere expressions Cersei’s seen on his face in a long while and stands, bending over and kissing Sansa soundly.

Sansa _meeps_ in surprise, but almost immediately winds her arms around Jaime’s neck, arching up toward him.

Cersei gives them to the count of ten before she starts clapping. “And _that_ is how you get a woman to marry you, brother.”

Jaime pulls back from Sansa with a groan, burying his face in the young woman’s unbound hair as she blushes. “I do hate you, sister.”

Cersei rolls her eyes. “No you don’t. You owe me your soon-to-be happy marriage, and I expect your firstborn to be named after me.”

“What if it’s a boy?” Sansa asks, eyes gleaming.

Cersei shrugs. “Still. When should I call for the septon?”

Jaime turns his head enough to glare at his twin. “As soon as Sansa can stand without shaking, you presumptuous wench.”

The queen smirks. “Presumptuous, perhaps, but I was right.”

“Yes, sister, you were right. Happy? Is that what you wanted to hear? Now will you please leave?”

Cersei brings a hand to her chest and gasps dramatically. “And leave a newly betrothed couple unchaperoned? Such impropriety!”

“Cersei,” Jaime growls.

Cersei laughs. “I’m going, I’m going. Do behave. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“That leaves a long list of options,” Jaime fires back.

“She’s not wrong,” Jaime tells Sansa as soon as the door closes behind Cersei.

“Hmm?” Sansa hums against his cheek.

He presses his lips to hers again. “The things I want to do to you are entirely improper.” He tugs at one of the sleeves of the robe she still wears. “Seeing you laying about my rooms all day, in nothing but my own damn robe.”

Sansa blushes. “So marry me, and let them be proper.”

Jaime drops his head to her shoulder with a groan. “Vixen.”

Sansa can’t help but giggle.

Jaime raises his head and presses a kiss to her temple. “I am impatient to marry you, have no doubt. But I will not marry you until you can stand without shaking and looking as if you are about to cry.”

All who know of it agree to keep Jaime’s resignation and his betrothal to Sansa quiet. As Cersei pointed out, it is a matter best handled delicately. Loathe as he is to leave her, Jaime leaves Sansa under the guard of the Hound and ventures into the city under nightfall to retrieve the maester Stark had managed to hide away. He confirms everything Sansa told them, and Jaime barely manages to hold Cersei back as his sister rages and screams.

He wraps an arm around the queen’s waist and whispers in her ear. “Easy, sister. We need him, Cersei.” He squeezes gently around her waist. “We may pray the gods smile upon you and grant you a son that is worthy of ruling.”

Cersei sags and he turns her into his embrace, letting her sob into his chest. “He’s still my son.”

He holds her close. “I know.”

It’s a long while before she calms.

“I spoke with Robert,” Jaime tells her quietly. “He’s allowed that Joffrey will be permitted to join the Citadel.”

Cersei laughs brittly, and shakes her head. “Joffrey will never accept that. He will rant and rave and act madly and violently and make fools of all of us.”

“Then what do you propose, Cersei?”

“I can’t even say it aloud.”

Sansa brushes her hand through Jaime’s hair as he sits at her feet in front of the fire. “What’s on your mind, Jaime?”

He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t trouble you with it, my dear.”

“Jaime,” she chides softly.

He shakes his head again. “You have suffered enough without my troubles.”

“Jaime,” she repeats more firmly. “You are to be my husband, and I would not have you suffer alone. Please, Jaime?”

He sighs and rests his head against her knee. “Joffrey.”

“What about him?”

“Precisely. Robert agreed he could renounce his name and title and spend his remaining days at the Citadel.”

“But he cannot be trusted to stay there. He cannot be trusted not to cause a fuss. He cannot be trusted.”

“You’re smarter than you ever let on, my dear,” he tilts his head back enough to smile at her.

She blushes.

“I like it. You should not have to feign unintelligence.”

“So what are we going to do about Joffrey?”

Jaime shrugs. “It has to look like an accident, or natural causes. And for Cersei’s sake, he cannot suffer. And Cersei can never know who did it or how.”

Sansa and Jaime marry in the Godswood in the dead of night, with none but Robert, Cersei, and Ned, leaning heavily on Robert, to witness the septon overseeing their vows. Sansa attends a feast for King Robert’s name day, her first public appearance since the last time she was beaten in court, the day after they wed. She wears a gown of Stark gray, but a belt of gold and rubies - Lannister colors. She stands tall, proud, in a way that the court has not seen from her before.

Joffrey doesn’t notice, sauntering up to her and grasping her elbow tightly. “Lady Sansa, how good to see you well.”

Sansa barely manages to contain her wince at the grip on her elbow. “Prince Joffrey, if you would kindly unhand me.”

“Come now, Lady Sansa,” Joffrey waves his free hand, the goblet of wine he holds in it sloshing over the rim, “we can be friends, can’t we?”

Sansa sees Jaime enter the hall over Joffrey’s shoulder and finds her courage. She jerks her arm free and straightens her shoulders. “No, I am afraid we cannot.” She steps around him deftly and strides toward Jaime.

“I was speaking to you!” Joffrey nearly screeches. “Do not walk away from me!”

Sansa keeps walking, keeping her shoulders straight and her eyes on Jaime, ignoring Joffrey’s screams behind her. Jaime holds his hand out as she comes within reach, and she takes it gratefully, grasping it like a lifeline.

Jaime brings her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Harassing you already, is he?”

“Of course,” Sansa nods, smile pasted on firmly.

“Just stay by my side,” Jaime reassures.

“Gladly,” Sansa agrees.

“Uncle!” Joffrey stumbles up to them. “Once again, you are dominating the Lady Stark’s attention. Do come dance with me, my Lady.”

“I’d rather not,” Sansa declines tightly.

“Oh come now, sweet-”

“Nephew,” Jaime cuts him off. “You are speaking to the Lady of Casterly Rock and you will do so with the respect she is due.”

Joffrey blinks owlishly.

Jaime steps forward, putting himself mostly between Joffrey and Sansa without releasing her hand. “Since I can see that you are well into your cups, nephew, I will explain. I have taken Lady Sansa as my wife. She is Lady Lannister now and you will treat her with the respect she is due as such. Do I make myself clear?”

Sansa keeps her eyes on Jaime, intentionally ignoring the numerous members of the Court now openly watching the exchange.

Surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, it’s Cersei that comes to the rescue, swooping in between them as if she doesn’t even see Joffrey. “Good-sister!” Cersei deftly twines her arm into Sansa’s free side, and tugs her away from Jaime and Joffrey. “So good to see you up and well, little dove. I’ve a surprise for you.”

“Your grace is too kind,” Sansa answers.

Cersei merely smiles and points toward the head table, where Ned is seated next to Robert.

Sansa beams. “Father!”

Cersei laughs. “Go on.”

Sansa doesn’t need to be told twice, lifting her skirts and rushing across the room to her father’s side.

“How’d you do it?” Jaime asks his sister, watching his wife throw herself into her father’s arms, heedless of the stares throughout the room. “Just yesterday he could barely stand on his own.”

Cersei hums thoughtfully. “Yes, well, that maester the Starks found got me to thinking.”

“Always dangerous.”

She smacks his arm gently. “If a maester can accomplish… well, that… surely they can bring life back to the already living. The rules of the Citadel bind most maesters, but not all maester’s follow the rules of the Citadel.”

“Well… whatever you did, I thank you. I do not imagine Sansa would have fared well if she had lost her father.”

“I imagine she wouldn’t. And though I do not alway see eye to eye with Ned Stark… well, he manages to keep Robert in check more often than not. There aren’t many people my husband heeds the advice of.”

“Exactly how far into his cups is my dear nephew?” Jaime whispers to Sansa as Joffrey trips over his own feet and lands hard on his face.

Sansa’s lips twitch. “Not as far as he would seem.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow, without taking his eyes off his nephew _slowly_ peeling himself up off the floor.

“Later,” she tells him.

He waits until they’re alone in his chambers that night. “So?”

Sansa pauses in brushing her hair out. “You said it had to look like an accident.”

“Sansa?”

“Some Lord or another gifted Joffrey a cask of a rather fine Arbor Gold his last name day. He’s rather stingy with it - doesn’t share it with anyone. Some poisons are very sweet. You wouldn’t even notice them if they were mixed with something else sweet.”

Jaime can’t help but gape at his wife, staring at her lap, clearly waiting for his reaction. He can’t help it - he laughs.

Sansa looks up sharply.

Jaime strides across the room, bends over and kisses her thoroughly. “Your smarts are showing again, my dear wife.”

“You’re not angry?”

He shakes his head. “Does anyone else know?”

She shakes her head. “I read about the poison. I stole the herbs from the maester’s chambers when he was in a meeting and brewed it myself. I added the herbs to the cask myself. No one saw me.”

He kisses her again. “Brilliant woman.”

“You’re truly not angry?”

“No, I’m not. Just don’t tell Cersei.”

Sansa shakes her head. “I am not stupid, Jaime.”

Joffrey is found dead in the morning. The maester concludes he had a bad heart, likely from birth, undetected. Jaime pretends he doesn’t see the relief behind the tears in Cersei’s eyes at the prince’s funeral.

Sansa’s jaw actually drops at the sight of Casterly Rock. “It’s beautiful.”

Jaime looks at his childhood home, trying to see it through the eyes of someone seeing it for the first time. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

“You don’t think so?”

Jaime shrugs. “My father didn’t have the most affectionate method of child-rearing. It taints the memory a bit. Speaking of,” he nods toward the open gates, where his father stands in the courtyard. “Are you ready for this?”

Sansa grips the reigns of her horse so tightly her knuckles turn white. “As I’ll ever be.”

Jaime spurs his horse through the gates, and hears Sansa’s mount right behind him. He takes a deep breath as he dismounts, keeps his face impassive as her turns and helps Sansa to the ground. He attempts to smile.

She offers a shaky smile and nod in return.

He takes a final breath, tucks Sansa’s hand into his arm, and turns to his father. “Father.”

Tywin nods. “Jaime. I wasn’t expecting you. I would apologize for not making it to the funeral, but quite frankly, the boy was a disgrace to the family.”

“While I do not wish to speak ill of the dead, I cannot say you are wrong,” Jaime agrees.

“There is very little going on in Westeros that I do not know, Jaime, but I do not know why you have returned to Casterly Rock.”

Jaime’s lips twitch. “Fulfilling your wishes.”

Tywin raises an eyebrow.

Sansa stifles a giggle.

Jaime turns and raises an eyebrow at her.

She uses her free hand to point toward his face. “That expression. Right there.” She points back to Tywin. “You get it from your father.”

Jaime can’t help but smile. He rolls his eyes at his wife and turns back to his father. “I’ve renounced my vows to the Kingsguard.”

Tywin’s other brow joins the first. “Oh?”

Jaime straightens his shoulders. “I would like to present my wife, Lady Sansa of House Stark.”

Tywin actually looks surprised. “You married. You married to a house worthy of aligning with our own, no less. And you didn’t tell me.”

Jaime grits his teeth and nods. “It didn’t seem appropriate to include in the message about the prince’s demise, and as we were coming to Casterly Rock anyway, I did not see the point in wasting a raven.”

Tywin surprises Jaime and actually laughs. “Gods have mercy! I know that face. You married her because you love her, didn’t you?”

Jaime nods again.

Tywin shakes his head. “Well, at least you fell in love with someone it honors your House to marry.” Her turns to Sansa. “Welcome to Casterly Rock, Lady Lannister.”

Sansa dips her chin in response. “Thank you, my Lord.”

“Tell me, might I expect grandchildren soon?”

“You have Myrcella,” Jaime answers. “And whatever whelp Cersei carries now.”

“Your sister is with child?”

Jaime nods. “They’re planning on calling it Tommen if it’s a boy, hoping for a less vile creature than her firstborn.”

“You said her, not their.”

“Shrewd as ever. Sansa?”

“How much do I tell him?” Sansa asks timidly.

Jaime squeezes her hand. “As much as you want.”

Sansa lifts her chin, boldly meeting Tywin’s eyes. “Joffrey was not Robert’s son.” Tywin gives her a disbelieving glare and every ounce of timidity vanishes. “Oh, don’t give me that look, my Lord. I am not accusing the queen of anything. She was tricked by a Northern lord and a well paid maester. Joffrey was a bastard, and my father discovered the truth of it.”

“It was dealt with?” Tywin asks coldly.

“The maester and Joffrey,” Sansa nods.

“Joffr- it wasn’t simply his cups, then?”

“It was not, my Lord.”

Tywin smirks. “Your Lady wife is much more than just a pretty face, isn’t she, son?”

“She is,” Jaime answers smugly.

“I will admit I am impressed, Lady Sansa, and I am not a man easily impressed. The Lord?”

“A more complicated matter,” Sansa admits.

“And likely best not discussed in the courtyard.” Tywin offers a hand. “Come in, my dear, see your new home and we can discuss the matter further.”

Sansa releases Jaime’s arm and takes Tywin’s, smiling at Jaime over her shoulder as she goes. Jaime shakes his head, his wife amazing him once again - mere minutes and she has the fearsome Tywin Lannister wrapped around her little finger. Once they’re seated in the dining hall, table laden with food, Tywin dismisses the servants.

He looks at Sansa over his wine goblet. “Now, this Northern Lord?”

“Roose Bolton, my Lord. A Stark bannerman, though not a particularly loyal or reliable one.”

“No?”

Sansa shakes her head. “The Bolton’s are cruel, my Lord, and my father has held them in check for decades now. They would have the seat of the North for themselves if they could.”

“Or the Iron Throne, apparently.”

Sansa inclines her head. “Apparently.”

“That’s been dealt with, though?”

“It has.”

“Then why hasn’t Lord Bolton been dealt with?”

“It’s a delicate matter, my Lord. We dare not trust the message on a raven. My father has been recovering from Joffrey attacking and poisoning him. And accusing Bolton of treason without implicating the queen was unfaithful.”

“Delicate, indeed. Well, dear girl, the Starks have more than served the crown in this matter, I’ll see the job finished myself.”

Sansa smiles. “My Lord.”

Roose Bolton and his bastard son both vanish within a sennight.

Queen Cersei Baratheon gives birth to a son, sweet Tommen, less than six months after Joffrey’s untimely death.

Sansa and Jaime’s first born arrives less than a year after they marry. A boy, strong and healthy, who is the spitting image of his golden-haired father, save for his mother’s blue eyes. To the queen’s delight, they name him Ceris.   
  
  
  
  



End file.
